


The Fifth House on the Left

by Small_Hobbit



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen, spookyish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 08:09:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/pseuds/Small_Hobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade is out one foggy night, but things aren't quite as he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fifth House on the Left

**Author's Note:**

> methylviolet10b decided to write a spooky Hallowe'en fic and encouraged others to have a go too. This is therefore my first and last attempt at a spooky fic.

Inspector Lestrade looked into the fog and pulled his collar closer.  Two minutes ago he could see across the road, now he would be lucky to see his hand if he held his arm out in front of his face.  He continued along the pavement, but moving at a slower rate, not wishing to collide with anyone or anything that was now hidden in the murky depths.

In the distance he thought he could hear howling and he tried not to shiver as it brought to mind the time he had met Holmes and Watson in Dartmoor.  He realised that that was nearly ten years ago and he wondered at the effect the baying could still have on him.  He jammed his hands into his pockets and moved on.

Finally he reached the alley way Holmes had spoken of.  Holmes had been specific in his message: fifth house on the left, first floor and walk to the end.  Lestrade walked cautiously down the alley way, trying to discern where one house ended and the next began.  As he looked up he caught glimpses of lights as the fog swirled around.  It was as if the buildings themselves were moving slightly.  He forced himself to think rationally, buildings did not move and it was just a trick of the light. 

He reached what he judged to be the fifth house.  He started to walk up the steps to the front door, raised his foot and toppled forward as he put his foot down on a step that was no longer there.  He put his hands out to save himself; the graze on his palm that he received from the brickwork of the house was real enough, even though the steps were now to his right.  He moved along the front of the house until he was once more by the steps.  He hesitated, was this still the fifth house or had it become the sixth?

Chiding himself for such thoughts he walked firmly up the steps and was about to knock on the door when he saw it was slightly ajar.  Carefully he pushed it and then stepped across the threshold.  He half expected it to bang closed behind him, but there was a slight creak and the door settled back in the same position that he had found it.

There were no noises within the house apart from a slight creaking of pipes and a vague pattering of what could well have been a mouse in the rafters.  Lestrade made his way carefully up the stairs to the first floor.  He looked along the corridor to the end as he had been instructed.  Then he stood still.  Unlike the rest of the house the room at the end was well lit, and there was a fire burning brightly in the grate.  Ordinarily he would have been reassured to see such signs of habitation, but on this occasion he was horrified.  The room looked exactly like the sitting room of 221B Baker Street and the voice he thought he could hear murmuring something quietly sounded identical to that of Dr John Watson.

As he continued to stare at the room, a man moved to stand in front of the fire, warming his hands.  The man turned round and Lestrade saw the body of Sherlock Holmes looking at him, but a Holmes with no face.  Lestrade’s mind could take no more and he pitched forward in a faint.

~~~~~~~

_From the diary of John H Watson MD_

It was a cold evening in late autumn.  Outside the fog was growing denser and we were grateful that there were no pressing engagements, and therefore we could spend a quiet evening at home.  Holmes moved in front on the fire and held his hands out to warm them.  Then he turned so that his back was to the fire.

Suddenly he exclaimed “Quick Watson, we must go out at once; there is not a minute to be lost.”

I could not tell what had caused his change of heart, but long years living with Holmes had taught me that once he had come to such a conclusion there was no point in discussing it with him.  I grabbed my coat and hat and followed him down the stairs.  Mrs Hudson emerged from her rooms in response to the noise of our descent, but Holmes merely told her to stay out of our way and she retreated rapidly.

Holmes set off down the street at a rapid pace and I was forced to practically run to catch up with him, having no wish to lose him in the fog.  I was certain that he could find his way throughout the city despite the lack of visibility; I was rather less sure of my own abilities and therefore grabbed his arm to ensure that we did not become separated.

As far as I could tell we followed a zigzag route until finally Holmes said “Yes, this is the place” and we turned into a narrow alleyway.  He counted along the houses until he reached the fifth one and then he ran up the steps to the front door, muttering that he hoped we were in time.  The door was not shut properly so we were able to enter the house without difficulty.

Inside the house it was almost silent, with nothing more than the creaking that one associates with a town house.  I strained my ears but could hear no signs of life.  Holmes’ hearing is better than mine and after a brief hesitation he ran up the stairs.  I followed slightly more circumspectly, having no desire to fall.

Then Holmes shouted “Watson, come here, quickly” and I abandoned my thoughts of self-preservation and hurried to join him.  He had produced a flashlight from his pocket and the light from it was sufficient to show Inspector Lestrade lying on the floor with blood trickling from behind his ear where he had clearly been hit.

~~~~~~~

It was a few days later.  Lestrade had recovered from the blow to the head and we were once more assembled in front of the fire in Baker Street, listening as Holmes explained how he had tracked down those responsible.

I was still puzzled as to how Holmes had known where to find Lestrade, but when I asked him he merely exchanged a look with the inspector and began to tell me about a concert he was planning on attending the following day.


End file.
